


The Camera Never Lies

by doilycoffin



Series: Wincest Love Week 2018 [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Implied Stalking, M/M, Modeling, Pining, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-05-30 23:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15107405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doilycoffin/pseuds/doilycoffin
Summary: When a model dies under mysterious circumstances during a shoot for an upscale department store, Sam and Dean reluctantly go undercover into the world of modeling in order to prevent it from happening again.Unfortunately, Dean doesn't quite account for the fact that Sam is a natural in front of the camera, and soon he is forced to come to terms with his ever growing attraction to Sam and the discovery that he's not the only one on set who can't take his eyes off him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my final fic for wincest love week, sent over the course of a few days (going off prompt again). I'll be uploading the other chapters once I finish revising them, and I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> The timeline is not particularly important here, but I imagine it taking place around season two-ish

Dean knows he should be grateful for the chance at having some down-time for once, but after a few weeks of doing nothing but a couple of routine salt-and-burns, he's starting to feel twitchy and restless. He's never handled boredom particularly well, and there hasn't been much to do except hustle some extra pool in order to try and build up their cash reserves, and sit in front of the motel tv and complain about the fact that the cable channels always just showed the same freakin' movie over and over. 

 

There's only so many times that one man can watch  _Erin Brockovich,_ Julia Robert's cleavage be damned. 

 

Sam wasn't broadcasting his anxiousness quite as overtly, but Dean can tell that he's been feeling fidgety lately as well and it seems that whenever he looks at Sam, he's either moping around like an overgrown child or spending hours on his laptop trying to find any news story that would remotely fall into their wheelhouse. Dean knows that there's probably something wrong with him for almost hoping that Sam finds a case involving some monster or another terrorizing innocent victims, but he can't help but he can't help but be a little relieved when Sam eagerly shoves his laptop in Dean's face one morning while Dean is still lying in bed and barely awake, demanding his attention. 

 

On the screen, a picture of pretty, smiling brunette who looks to be in her early twenties, identified as Laura Hanson from New York City, stares back at him from above a headline that announces her untimely death. It's a tragic story, sure, but when Dean begins to read the article and finds out that she died from heart failure and doesn't see mention of unusual circumstances, he frowns at Sam in confusion. 

 

"Are you sure this is really our kind of thing? I know she was pretty young, but I don't know if the heart failure thing is  _that_ weird."

 

Sam reaches over Dean and scrolls down towards the bottom of the article, highlighting one of the sections. "Okay, I'll admit that part alone is a little too thin to base a hunt around but check this out: when Laura's body was found, the article says that she was emaciated to the point that her own sister had difficulty identifying her body."

 

"Not for nothing, but didn't  the article say she was a model? Most of them seem like they're half-starved just in general."

 

"Sure, but it isn't like she and her sister rarely saw each other. They  _lived_ together, and her sister claims that Laura looked perfectly fine just the day before she died. It seems a little off is all I'm saying."

 

Dean drums his fingers on the laptop as he mulls over Sam's words. It still isn't much to go on, but it's better than the big fat nothing that they'd had lately. It probably couldn't hurt to at least follow up on it. 

 

"So what're you thinking then? Some kind of monster that feeds off of life force?" He inquires and watches as the some of the tension melts away from Sam's body; he was clearly ready to keep fighting Dean on this one if he had to. 

 

"It definitely could be. Maybe something similar to a Shtriga," Sam agreed, "It could also be some sort of witchcraft. I don't think we'll know anything for sure until we're able to get more details though." 

 

Dean jumps up from the bed and barely manages to stifle a yawn as he beings throwing piles of clothing into his duffle bag, not even bothering to distinguish between the clean and dirty ones in his haste. 

 

"Well, New York here we come." 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean always forgets how much he hates New York until he has to go back there again. Too crowded, too noisy and, perhaps the greatest crime of all, the parking was such a nightmare that he was constantly paranoid that Baby might suffer some kind of traumatic incident, but he pushes all of these petty annoyances aside when he and Sam arrive at the apartment that Laura shared with her sister, decked out in their usual law enforcement get-up. 

 

Katie Hanson looks as if she's barely holding it together, but she's courteous enough when she invites them into her apartment. She's not crying at the moment, but her eyes are swollen and red, and her is slightly hoarse when she speaks. Cases involving siblings always hit too close to home for him and his stomach twists uncomfortably whenever he looks at the poor woman for too long. 

 

"Do you...do you think someone was involved with her death?" She asks, wringing her hands and sniffing a little. "All I was told was that her heart gave out." 

 

"As of right now, we can't say that for sure," Sam says gently. "But we were hoping that you might be able to help us figure that out . Did Laura have any enemies that you know of? Or any kind of recent behavioral changes that you noticed?" 

 

"I can't imagine that anyone would want to hurt her. Laura was always the more outgoing and cheerful one of the two of us; she could charm just about anyone." For just a second, there's a fraction of a smile on the woman's face before her expression becomes grief-stricken again. "Cheerful up until a few weeks ago, at least." 

 

Sam leans forward in his seat with his pen poised about the notepad in his hands. "Can you think of anything in particular that may have been upsetting her?"

 

Katie laughs bitterly. "It was that damn job of hers. She was doing work for that fancy department store,  _Armel's;_ they're working on their big spring catalog. She was so excited when she finally managed to land a big modeling campaign, but all it ended up doing was stress out." 

 

"Do you know why?" Sam asks as he scribbles out some notes. 

 

"She kept telling me  she was fine," Katie says while shaking her head, "But she was always so exhausted and miserable when she came home that she would just immediately collapse in bed. She was practically a zombie most of the time.  When  I found out that a few of the other models she worked with were literally hospitalized for exhaustion at one point, I tried to tell her that she should find another gig, but she was convinced that this was her big shot and that she just needed to tough it out. Maybe if I had been able to convince her to at least take it easy for a few days, she wouldn't have been at the studio that day, putting so much strain on herself, and she wouldn't have died there all alone. They didn't even find her body until hours later. Maybe if I had tried a little harder..." Her face crumples and she buries it in her palms as she begins to weep. 

 

Dean shares a glance with Sam when Katie mentions that her sister's body was actually found in the modeling studio. To the best of Dean's recollection, that part hadn't been mentioned in the newspaper. He wonders if the studio is simply trying to keep that part under wraps due to the fact that no foul play is suspected and that dead models don't exactly equal good publicity, or if there's something more sinister at work there. 

 

"There's no way you could have predicted that any of this would happen," Dean consoles, gently nudging a box of kleenex across the coffee table. "We don't know for sure that her job had anything to do with her death and even if it did, you shouldn't blame yourself for something you had no control over." 

 

"I should have done  _something_ ," Katie insists, semi-hysterical and past the point of listening to reason, lost as she was in grief. "I mean, I knew that she had lost a little bit of weight since she started the shoot but when I went to..." her sentence chokes off for a second and she clears her throat, "when I went to  _identify_  her, I didn't even recognize her at first; she looked almost skeletal. She was practically a different person. How is something like that even possible?" 

 

It's not a question that either of them have an answer to, and Dean gets the feeling that there's not anything that they could say to her right now that would ease the pain of her sister's death even slightly. The best thing they can do for her is get rid of whatever creature was to blame for Laura's death before it had the chance to kill anyone else, and they leave after asking her a few more questions that don't take long to finish up.

 

When they drive to the morgue and flash their badges in order to get access to the coroner's report and examine the body, Dean can't but recoil a little when he pulls out the drawer that she's lying in. Katie wasn't exaggerating when she said that her sister was barely recognizable; every ounce of her flesh was wrapped tightly around her bones, making her look almost like a husk. Her face, once youthful and kind, looks like it's been aged by at least twenty years and stretches over her skull in a way that pulls the corners of her lips into an almost obscene looking smile.  Before they came here, part of Dean  wondered if Laura might have been hiding some sort of severe drug addiction that might explain the weight loss and personality changes, but actually seeing the body and reading the negative toxicology report puts that theory to rest easily enough. 

 

Unfortunately, while the theory that some sort of life-sucking entity is involved in the situation has more or less been confirmed to them based on existing evidence, they don't actually have enough to go on to be certain of what specific creature it is that they need to off. The modeling aspect of the case is beginning to look more and more like it's the root of the issue and until they're able to delve into it, Dean has a feeling that they're not going to be able to get anything done. 

 

When he and Sam get back to the impala, Sam turns to Dean and looks at him with a grim expression. "You know what we have to do next, don't you?" 

 

Dean sighs. "Yup." 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Turn a little bit to the right; your bad side is showing," Dean tells Sam as he fiddles with a digital camera. 

 

"What bad side?," Sam demands with a frown, insulted. The look on his face is so amusing that Dean quickly snaps a picture of it, much to Sam's annoyance. 

 

"Look, I'm just saying that we should be putting our best foot forward if we're gonna be world famous models. And stop frowning, you'll get wrinkles." 

 

"Not sure if 'world famous' is really the sort of potential that we're working with here," Sam says dryly. 

 

Dean's hand flies to his heart in mock scandalization. "I'm surprised at you, Sammy. How could you say such a dirty lie?" 

  
It's entirely true, of course. The only reason that their half-baked plan to play at being models for  even just few days has a chance of success is because Bobby informed them (after cackling wildly at their predicament) that he knew the owner of a model agency in LA who owed him one for some sort of ghost related favor and would likely be able to get them contracted with the  _Armel's_  catalog shoot. All they had to do was send in a few pictures so they could be made into a fake portfolio. Easy peasy. Kind of.    
  


 

"Because we're taking our  headshots and portfolio pictures with a cheap camera inside a motel room that hasn't seen a vacuum since the Nixon administration?" Sam asks sarcastically. 

 

"Hey, there's no way I'm about to shell out like three hundred dollars so some douche can take a few 'professional' pictures of us. I'm pretty sure we can just slap a black and white filter on these and it'll be the same damn thing," Dean rants as he scrolls through the camera's library to see how may relatively usable pictures they've taken today. It isn't promising. "Now how about you start putting your back into it a little? Really make love to the camera." 

 

Sam throws his head back and laughs at the ridiculousness of the entire situation and Dean takes the opportunity to get a few pictures of it. They turn out surprisingly well, and Dean decides that laughter is a good look on Sam as he also attempts to ignore the strange flutter he gets in his belly when he lingers on the pictures a little too long. 

 

He shakes his head as if doing so will somehow scramble up the decidedly non-brotherly thoughts going through his mind. 

 

Maybe it's time to make Sam have a turn with the camera for a while. 


	2. Chapter 2

 

"I still can't believe I got stuck with 'Chad," Sam complains as they're on their way to  _Arnel's_  modeling studio a couple of days later. 

 

The tunaround on them being hired by  _Arnel's_  for such an apparently competitive catalog shoot is a lot quicker than Dean initially assumed it would be and while he likes to think that it's because the casting department took one look at him and decided he was the most handsome son of a bitch they've even had the privilege to look at (and Sam's okay too, he generously allows), he knows that it's most likely because Bobby's modeling agency pal was  able to spin some kind of bullshit about their non-existent modeling experience when they contacted the studio. It probably didn't hurt that they were left short handed and scrambling due to the fact that several of their models had either been hospitalized or, you know,  _died_. Things weren't exactly shaking out too well for them. 

 

"You're the one who let me fill out the applications," Dean points out with a smirk, ignoring the way Sam's eyes narrow at him. "And technically, your  _full_ name is Chadwick Hilton. You just prefer to go by Chad." Dean himself had gone for the name Theodore Vanderbilt, claiming that it's just the right kind of name for a snooty model. Sam claims that it's more like the kind of name that a rich guy who gets caught embezzling from his company so he can pay off the mothers of his many illegitimate children would have. There's a reason why Dean occasionally likes to screw with his brother. 

 

"You couldn't have picked literally anything else?" 

 

"Dude, with that mop of hair and your collection of polo shirts, you're totally a Chad. Didn't you even used to be in a fraternity?" 

 

"I have  _maybe_ fourpolos," Sam corrects with a sour expression on his face. "...and I only pledged the fraternity for like two days. I seriously regret telling you about that." 

 

"You should." Dean laughs at him and takes another bite of the breakfast burrito he's trying to finish stuffing into his face before they arrive at the studio. He even decided to forgo ordering it with extra bacon this time; gotta stay model thin, after all. 

 

Sam continues to glare at him and quietly reaches over to hit the eject button on the Metallica tape that's blaring in the car, just out of sheer pettiness and Dean berates him for it  through a mouthful of  scrambled eggs and tortilla. 

 

Just business as usual. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean never thought he could ever be this unhappy while in a studio filled with some of the hottest women that New York had to offer, but it turns out that being a catalog model is really fucking boring half of the time and just plain irritating the other half. He's currently being shoved into a hair and makeup chair for the third time that day and forces himself to stay still as the stylist, a mousy woman named Sophie, fusses over him and chastises him because he apparently doesn't use the right kind of shampoo for his hair type. He didn't even know there  _was_  a wrong kind of shampoo for him to use.  Who does she think he is, Sam?

 

Speaking of which, if there's one thing he can be grateful for, it's the fact that Sam's getting it even worse right now than he is. The guy has not one but  _two_  people surrounding him and putting various products in his hair and arguing over how it should be styled. Judging by the way that Sam is digging his fingers into the armrest of his chair, he's clearly struggling not to jump out of it. Dean takes some comfort in the fact that they're mutually suffering. 

 

Sophie is actually a fairly pleasant and chatty woman  when she isn't berating him about his hair or trying to coerce him into adding some seventy dollar face moisturizer to his skin-care regimen (he can't imagine she would take it well if he mentions the fact that he doesn't even have one to begin with), and Dean feels like he's had his first stroke of luck all day when he realizes that Sophie is also a huge gossip. On the occasions when they're not impersonating law enforcement, it's a bit more difficult for them to ask questions related to the case in a way that's not overly invasive, so gossips are generally their bread and butter since it doesn't take very much at all to grease the wheels. 

 

For the most part, Sophie spends the better part of half an hour giving Dean every salacious detail about the catalog shoot  so far, although it mostly has to do with which models are fucking each other (all of them) and which ones are doing drugs between photo sessions (a lot of them). When she leans down to whisper in a conspiratorial tone about the fact that she was sure that at least a couple of the recent hospitalizations were due to the said drug consumption, Dean jumps on the chance to try and wheedle some information out of her about Sophie before she breezes on to another topic. 

 

"That's horrible. Didn't a model even die a few days ago? I thought I heard people here talking about it earlier in the cafeteria," Dean says, playing dumb. He isn't actually sure what people in the cafeteria were doing earlier. It sure as Hell wasn't eating, he knew that much. 

 

Sophie is standing behind him, but when Dean looks at the mirror, he can see her expression fall a little. "Oh," she says sadly, "that was Laura. It's hard to believe that she was sitting in my chair just a few days ago. They said that her heart just gave out suddenly, poor girl." 

 

"That's so crazy," Dean says, schooling his face in a disbelieving expression. "How does something like that even happen?"

 

Sophie glances around as if making sure that no one else is able to hear her. "If you ask me, Laura was practically worked to death," she says lowly. "The director of the shoot insists on doing an insane number of pieces each day because he wants the catalog to be absolutely perfect. A lot of people have been looking a bit worn down because of it, but Laura didn't seem like she was dealing with with the stress well. She was such a sweet girl..." 

 

*************

 

After a few more hours of being posed like a doll and getting yelled at whenever he fails to wear the right expression on his face for whatever product or clothing he's supposed to be showing off (how the Hell is he supposed look "reserved and excited at the same time" about a pair of one thousand dollar cuff links? ) he's beginning to understand how someone could be worked to death on a modeling shoot. Nothing ever seems to be quite good enough for the photographers, especially not to the director, Renaldo Toscani. With his dark, well groomed beard and immaculate clothing, he would probably be considered a handsome man to most but Dean can't get past the smug look on his face and the fact that he doesn't seem to have any sense of decency. To Dean's best estimate, the man has caused at least three models to break down in tears on set so far that day due to how gruelingly he runs the shoot. Dean's pretty sure he isn't going to cry, but he's definitely having a hard time not hauling off and punching the douchebag right in his face. 

 

Weirdly enough, for someone who can be so awkward, Sam actually appears to be thriving on the set pretty well and seems to be correctly interpreting whatever insane directives are yelled at him because he doesn't get criticized nearly as much as Dean. Right now, they have Sam staring sultrily at the camera while wearing low slung jeans and a partly open button down shirt as a fan points at him and blows through his ridiculous hair. The scene should be goofy and mock-worthy but instead, Dean has to admit that Sam makes it work.  _Really_  work, in fact, and the thought is one that Dean tries desperately not to think too closely about. Apparently, Toscani agrees with him because it might be the first time that Dean's heard the man actually praise someone on set, and he can hear him and that dumb (probably fake) Italian accent of his from across the room go on and on about how Sam's apparently the only one on set that day who's capable of properly executing his impeccable vision for the shoot and blah, blah, blah. 

 

Normally, he would be amused by the embarrassed expression on Sam's face, but the way that Toscani stands a little too close and keeps his hand clasped on Sam's shoulder the entire time raises Dean's hackles, and he finds himself fighting the urge to to go over there and  _make_  the guy back the hell off. Instead, he lets himself get dragged away from his violent imaginings by another photographer so he can wear a pair of artfully torn, expensive as hell jeans while looking "bold, but also very mysterious." Fucking modeling. 

 

The whole thing drives him to distraction for hours. All day, pretty models dressed to the nines in varying levels of skimpy clothing give him The Look as they walk by him, swaying their hips teasingly and Dean isn't sure if it's because they think he's hot or if it's because they just want to be able to take the new guy for a spin. It's both, probably, and he would normally be enthusiastically on board with this, were it not for the fact that his mind can't stop lingering on the image of Toscani's hand clasped heavily on Sam's shoulder as he gives him the same hungry, slightly predatory look that Dean's been getting from the women sashaying around set. 

 

By the end of the day, all Dean wants to do is find Sam and go back to the motel so they can call it a night. He's exhausted, hungry, and a little pissed off that he's made hardly any progression in the case at all, aside from finding out that Toscani is an asshole. But at this point it's impossible to tell whether he's the one literally sucking the life out of people or if he's just metaphorically doing so by treating all of the models like trash. 

 

Well, he thinks as he finally finds Sam standing in the lobby with a strained smile on his face as Toscani says something to him, maybe not  _all_  of the models. 

 

"--very nice of you to offer, but I actually have plans with someone tonight," he hears Sam say when he manages to get a little closer. To anyone else, the words would sound polite, but Dean knows Sam well enough to hear the tension beneath them. 

 

The sleazy grin on Toscani's face falters for just a second before he plasters it back on and leans in more closely, nearly backing Sam into the wall they were standing in front of. "Are you sure?," he needles, "I'd love the opportunity to take an exquisite and hard-working young man such as yourself out to dinner so I can give you some... _suggestions_ about all the ways in which you can advance your career. Who could you have plans with that would be more important than that?"

 

Dean isn't entirely sure what suggestions someone like Toscani wants to give Sam that would advance his (non-existent) modeling career, but he's pretty sure he can take a wild guess, and the picture that his imagination paints has him seeing red. As he stomps towards the pair, Sam finally spots him and Dean can see relief flash across his face for a second as he realizes that he's about to be extracted from his awkward encounter. 

 

"Me," he says, answering the question for Sam. "And we're nearly late, so we should probably be heading out soon, S-- Chad." He tries to aim for a tone that doesn't sound as openly hostile as he feels (getting fired from the studio by the shoot's director on the first day wouldn't exactly be conducive towards solving their case). Judging by the sneer on Toscani's face, he isn't quite sure that he succeeds in doing so. 

 

"I see," he says to Dean coldly before turning his attentions back towards Sam with a grin on his face that Dean supposes is meant to be charming but only comes off as lecherous. "Well, if you ever change your mind, my offer remains. I'm sure we'll be able to find time for it sooner or later." 

 

Not if Dean has anything to say about it. 

 

********************

 

"Christ, that guy really pisses me off," Dean complains when they're driving back to the motel. "He thinks he can just do whatever the hell he wants." 

 

Or  _who_ ever, apparently. 

 

"Yeah, he's pretty...intense," Sam admits, even though he's only half-listening. He's in deep concentration, skimming through a large tome that's sitting on his lap, too absorbed in its contents to give Dean's rant the investment it deserves, apparently having either forgotten his previous discomfort around Toscani or just not wanting to discuss it in front of Dean. 

 

"Intense? He looked like he wanted to freakin' devour you or something." 

 

"I think that's a bit of an exaggeration." 

 

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sammy," Dean scoffs. "Look, I'm just saying that if this guy ever tries to lure you to a windowless van so he can have you put on a 'private photo shoot,' then you should walk the other way." 

 

"You know I'd never let someone 'lure' me into their van. I'm not a child," Sam replies as he flicks through the book's pages. "Besides, everyone knows that the best photographers will at least try to get you into their basements for creepy photo shoots. I have standards." He says it in a tone that somehow manages to be a blend of both serious and dismissive, but Dean can see the little brother smirk on his face that tells him that Sam is trying to get under his skin. 

 

"Fine, see if I care the next time that creep invites you out to 'dinner' so he can try and trick you into posing for his spank bank scrapbook." 

 

"Uh-huh," Sam says absently. 

 

"Seriously, if that's the kind of thing you're into, I won't stop you." He'll probably stop Toscani though. Violently. "I mean, you  _did_  seem weirdly comfortable back at the studio..."

 

Sam frowns and finally deigns to give Dean his attention as  looks up from the book he's reading. "Doing what?" 

 

"You know...getting all dressed up in those goofy outfits while a bunch of weirdos stood around taking a million pictures." 

 

"And you were so focused on looking at me in those goofy outfits because...?" 

 

Because Sam looks even more unfairly attractively when he's forced out of his Goodwill chic wardrobe and the way that he takes direction so well on set, normally too stubborn and contrary to let anyone boss his around, is enough to give Dean an entire year's worth of fantasies that he would have to endeavor not to think about. It's almost bizarre, really, the way that Sam can evidently go from being his awkward, still gangly brother, to confidently strutting around on stage and posing in front of the camera as if he was born to do it. 

 

 

Dean takes a second to dig his fingers into his thigh, fiercely chasing away thoughts of what else Sam would look good doing on camera. He cringes as he realizes that Toscani almost surely has the same thoughts about Sam and it's nauseating to think that he has anything in common with the man. 

 

"Because I'm trying to make sure you don't wind up being the next victim, asshole," Dean half-lies. "And I just meant that if I didn't know any better, I'd say this wasn't your first time in the modeling biz." His voice is teasing and he's mostly just expecting Sam to roll his eyes or get irritated at him, but he doesn't anticipate the way that Sam sits a little more stiffly in his seat as his face turns an interesting shade of red. 

  
"Wait, seriously?" Dean squawks incredulously. "When?!" 

 

"I never said that I did it at all!" Sam looks like he's ready to throw open the passenger door and take his chances by doing a tuck and roll out of the moving car. He would probably be fine considering that New York traffic is only permitting them to travel at 10 miles per hour, but still. The desperation on his face is all Dean needs to confirm his suspicion and he wheedles and prods at Sam until he finally mumbles out something about Stanford and how "textbooks are expensive." 

 

There's a slight stinging in his chest at the reminder that, for years,  Sam had built an entire life separate from Dean's own that he still didn't know everything about and maybe never would, but he pushes past that feeling and decides that it would be easier to make fun of Sam than it would be to open that can of worms.

 

"Aw come on, Sam," he teases. "You gotta give me more to go on than that. At least tell me what kind of modeling it was." 

 

Sam closes his book with a sigh, giving up entirely on even the pretense of reading it. "Can't you just let it go?" 

 

"Is pamphlet modeling a thing? I bet they put you on some of those dorky college pamphlets," Dean continues without acknowledging Sam's protests, "with some dumb picture of you playing ultimate frisbee in front of the library or something." 

 

"I don't even know what ultimate frisbee is."

 

"Or maybe they put you on one of those STD awareness posters they hang up in clinics. Sam Winchester: the face of syphilis." 

 

"If I had been, I'm pretty sure that you of all people would have seen it." He just barely dodges the empty slurpee cup that Dean tosses at him. 

 

"Shampoo model?"

 

"No."

 

"Some kind of foot fetish thing?" 

 

"Ugh." 

 

"Underwear?" Dean tosses out, waiting for him to respond the way he had to the other joking guesses. When this doesn't happen, he turns to gape at Sam. 

 

" _No fucking way._ " 

 

"It-- it wasn't really a big deal or anything. It was just for a few local stores." He clams up and suddenly finds picking lent off of his jeans to be particularly fascinating.  

 

 

"Did you make any headway on the case?" he asks after a moment of quiet, clearly trying to change the subject as quickly as possible, and Dean lets him because he wasn't anticipating being assaulted by imaginings of Sam parading around mostly-naked in front of a bunch of cameras. It's a series of mental images that he can barely even enjoy because it only makes him wonder if there were other people like Toscani trying to paw at him back then too and he's too much of a coward to ask. 

 

"Not much," he grunts. "Mostly just things we already knew in the first place: Laura was well liked on set, didn't seem to be caught up in drugs or anything like that like some of the other models, and she had been looking noticeably worn down before she died. What about you?" 

 

"I didn't have much luck either. I managed to talk to a couple of models who were friends with some of the people who were hospitalized but, as far as I know, they don't seem to have much of a connection with each other aside from the fact that they were all working for the same studio," Sam explains, shaking his head ruefully. "As far as I could tell, they all seemed tended to mostly work with different photographers and weren't even in any of the same shots. Maybe if we could just find a solid link between them..." 

 

"I guess we'll just have to try even harder tomorrow then," Dean says, not remotely looking forward to going back to the studio. 

 

"Right." 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Things are still creeping along the next afternoon and Dean groans he sees a tall, blonde woman wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard making a beeline towards him. That's never good. 

 

"You," she says, pointing at him as if Dean doesn't understand what the word 'you' implies. "Are you between pieces right now?" 

 

"Uh...yeah?" He has the sinking feeling that whatever she's about to ask him to do will involve him doing work that isn't already on his schedule for that day and he's pretty sure that she isn't about to take 'no' for an answer.

 

"Great," she says, scribbling something on her clipboard. "We need someone to shoot a cologne ad and you look like you'll complement the other actor we've already got on the set pretty well. Get to wardrobe and be at Stage C in twenty." Before Dean can have a chance to respond, the woman turns on her heel and walks away, clearly not needing Dean's input on the matter. 

 

He grumbles all the down to wardrobe and throws on the silver pinstriped black suit they give him with little gusto, although when he admires himself in the floor length mirror, he has to admit that he looks damn fine in it. He's not looking forward to doing a shoot with another person in it though; he's done several over the past two days and they always seem to be the most awkward. 

 

When he gets to the stage and sees his brother waiting on it (wearing a similar suit, except with an inverted color scheme, that makes his already ridiculous legs look even longer and hugs his body in all the right places), he realizes that the shoot is either going to be  a lot less awkward than he anticipated since it's a familiar person or infinitely more, depending on the positions they're about to be finagled into. Cologne ads are usually entire platonic, aren't they?

 

"What's the name of this cologne again?" He asks a nearby assistant before she can bustle past him to go to another stage.

  
"Let's see," she says, flipping through the pages on her clipboard. "Ah, right, this one's called  _Forbidden Desire_."

 

Of course it is. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Are you  _sure_  we need to stand so close together?" Dean asks, looking imploringly at their photographer. For the shot, he's  _supposed_  to be pressing Sam up against the wall with one hand grasping his suit jacket and pulling him forward slightly while the other hand is tangled in his hair, their faces tilted closely towards each other to suggest that they're about to kiss. But for obvious reasons, Dean's having some trouble  _actually_ doing it, and his movements are stiff as he makes only the barest physical contact with Sam. 

 

The photographer sighs dramatically. "Theodore, my dear, it's important to me that you understand that we're trying to sell a product called  _Forbidden Desire_ , not  _Awkward Encounter With a Former College Roommate Who Hasn't Been Seen in Ten Years_. We're looking for something a bit...provocative. Are you saying that you can't muster enough passion for poor Chad over there?" 

 

He might be starting to muster up  _too_  much of it is the problem. 

 

Knowing that there doesn't seem to be a way out of it, he inches a bit closer to Sam but still stands at as much of distances that he thinks he could possibly get away with. He can tell that Sam is as uncomfortable as he is, and neither of them can meet each other's eyes. 

 

"Oh God's sake," he hears off stage in an accented voice that he, unfortunately, immediately recognizes. "Are you truly so incompetent?"

 

When he gets on the stage, he moves Dean bodily away from Sam and takes the position he was in. "I would be happy to provide a demonstration that you can follow so that you can cease wasting the studio's time with your dithering." 

 

Yeah, Dean's completely sure that it isn't at all because he wants to get up close and personal with Sam like a creep. Right. 

 

Toscani presses himself against Sam's body, manhandling him into position as he does so, and Dean can see that Sam is biting his lip and clenching his fists at his side, probably trying to resist letting his temper get the best of him; Dean, for one, would love to see him deck Toscani. Hell, he would probably make Christmas cards out of it if the moment was caught on camera. 

 

He also knows that Sam wouldn't jeopardize the case by doing such a thing and, sure enough, Sam forces himself to relax and let Toscani maneuver him. But when Sam visibly flinches  as the man's fingers tangle in his hair and yank him downward, far too roughly by Dean's estimate, Dean has enough. 

 

"I get the idea," he growls out. Toscani smirks at him before stepping away, and Dean takes his place. Sam looks a little shaken up from having his personal space invaded, and Dean vows to just get it right the first time so Toscani has no reason to interfere again. He's so close to Sam that he can feel the heat of his body against his own, and he's pleased when Sam's previously stiff body begins to relax against his own; when he gently grabs the front of his jacket, he can feel Sam's heartbeat thump against  his palm and Dean can't decide if the frantic beats are due to excitement or nervousness.  When he carefully weaves his fingers through Sam's hair and tugs him down, Sam leans forward a little more until their mouths are almost touching and Dean nearly ruins the position when he hears the photographer speak, having almost forgotten that they have an audience. 

 

" _Finally_ , we're getting somewhere. Now just hold that exact position; don't you move an inch." 

 

Dean hears the sound of a camera flashing and he should be relieved by the fact that the shoot is going to be over soon, but he isn't sure that he wants it to be. In fact, even though he knows he he isn't supposed to move, he finds himself wondering what would happen if he brought his lips forward just the barest amount of distance so that they touched Sam's own. Would Sam kiss him back? Would-- 

 

He's jarred from his thoughts suddenly and flails away from his position as he hears the loud resounding thud of someone falling to the ground, followed by a woman's startled scream. When someone calls out to the room demanding for an ambulance to be called, he shares a grim look with Sam. 

 

It looks like they need to step up their game. 


	3. Chapter 3

After the paramedics wheel out the unresponsive (but thankfully alive) model who collapsed, a man who Dean finds out from the murmurs on set is named Alexandre, the environment in the studio becomes tense as people become unable to focus on anything other than whispering to each other about what happened and why. Many of the models seemed to be shaken up when Sam and Dean first arrived at the studio, as many of them were still reeling over the fact that someone involved with the shoot had died, but it seems like the latest incident has caused a noticeable and permanent shift in the atmosphere. 

 

When examined separately, the events that have been occurring don't seem entirely unusual. The first few hospitalizations could be seen as concerning but not altogether odd because of the the time-crunch the studio is under  and the fact that it's a highly stressful environment in general. Laura's death came as a shock, of course, but with the official cause of death being listed as "natural causes," it didn't immediately strike anyone as meaning that they should be concerned for their own personal safety. But now, with yet another incident occurring so soon after her death, it seems like the combination of all of the happenings, there's a miasma of anxiety casting a pall over the studio and many of the models seem nervous and fearful. In the hours since the ambulance left, there have even been rumors spreading that the entire shoot is cursed . 

 

Unsurprisingly, Toscani doesn't exactly take kindly to the fact that people seem convinced that his precious catalog is doomed and he's even less enthused by the fact that everyone is so on edge that none of them are able to focus on the shoots that they're supposed to be performing that day, and during the mid-afternoon he pitches a fit and demands that if everyone insists on being superstitious slackers, then they may as well go home and get their head on straight so they can come back tomorrow and pack in even more shooting to try and make up for lost time. Somehow, Dean isn't shocked that the guy manages to be a douche even when he's giving people time off work. 

 

Sam doesn't meet his eyes on the entire trip back to the motel and Dean feels an uneasy pit in his stomach form when he thinks about why that is. At best, Sam's simply too deep in thought about the case to pay much attention to anything else but Dean has a feeling that that the silence is caused, at least in part, by what happened between them earlier that day and he wonders if Sam had seen the yearning on his face and instinctively knew that Dean wasn't a good enough actor to fake it for the camera, His whole body tenses up when he imagines what Sam would do if he finds out about even half the thoughts that Dean's traitorous brain has been conjuring up about him over the past several days (well,  _years_ if he's being honest with himself. He rarely is). 

 

He wonders if Sam would leave him and strike out on his own to avoid having to deal with the fact that his own brother is carrying a torch for him. Or maybe he would stay with Dean out of a sense of obligation, not willing to leave the only family he has left even if it makes him uncomfortable to do so. 

 

Dean isn't sure which option would be worse. 

 

***********

"It could be a succubus," Sam says later than evening with his eyes glued to his laptop. It's one of the first things that Sam's said to to him since leaving the studio, and Dean jumps on the chance to have a normal (well, normal by their standards anyway) conversation with him. 

 

"Yeah?" 

 

"Makes about as much sense as anything else," Sam shrugs. "I heard the woman who was standing next to Alexandre before he passed out say that he was shambling around like he could barely even walk straight and before the paramedics came, I noticed that he had these crazy dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn't slept in about a week. Could be that there's a succubus going incognito at the shoot and feeding off of the people there. You said yourself that you heard  a bunch of rumors about about everyone there constantly sleeping around together, so maybe if Laura and the models who have been hospitalized were in contact with the person, we might be able to figure out the culprit based on that." 

 

"Huh, guess I'd try to find a gig at a modeling studio too if I were a succubus. That place is practically a buffet." 

 

"That's one way to put it, I guess," Sam says, closing his laptop. "I also overheard one of the paramedics say they were taking Alexandre to Presbyterian. Maybe we should heard over there before we go to the studio tomorrow, see if he's conscious, and try to find out  if the succubus theory holds any water." 

 

When they go to the hospital the next morning, a nurse informs them that Alexandre finally regained consciousness a couple of hours ago but is too exhausted to entertain any visitors, and Dean's grateful that they remembered to bring their fake badges with them in order to expedite the process if necessary. When they get to the room, they find Alexandre lying in bed, looking only marginally better than the day before. Dean supposes that he's normally a handsome enough man-- must be in order to work on such a high profile modeling shoot-- but it's hard to glean that by looking at him now.  His face is still wan and gaunt, and the circles under his eyes have barely diminished even though he was unconscious for the better part of an entire day. His blond hair lies limp and dull on his head, and his appearance as a whole seems washed out, almost as if any vibrancy he possessed was sucked right out of his body. 

 

He seems surprised to see them and Dean can't blame him since he's pretty sure that neither he nor Sam have ever had a full conversation with the guy, and the surprise only grows when Dean only partially lies by informing him that they're actually undercover cops who suspect that someone is targeting the models on the shoot.

 

"Targeting us?," Alexandre asks, weak and confused. "But how? It's not like I was attacked by someone or anything like that." 

 

"We think it's possible that someone might be using more subtle methods, perhaps some kind of poison. There are some types of long-term poisoning that have symptoms similar to the kind of extreme fatigue that caused you to pass out yesterday," Sam explains gently, and Dean knows as well as Sam does that any tox-screen performed on Alexandre would likely come back negative just as it had for Laura, but he supposes that blaming poison would probably sound less crazy to Alexandre than the whole succubus thing. "Do you remember what happened before you blacked out yesterday?"

 

Alexandre thinks for a second, no doubt trying to get his currently fried brain in order. "Everything seemed pretty normal as far as I remember. I went to hair and makeup to get ready for the shoot, got an earful from Renaldo again about how I wasn't properly conveying his vision, whatever the hell that means, and then a few minutes later my chest started hurting, and I got really dizzy and passed out. Work has been pretty demanding over the past few weeks and I've been feeling more tired than normal because of it, so I just figured that was the reason." His hand strays to his chest and rubs it as he speaks, as if feeling phantom pains from the previous day. Dean recalls seeing the words "severe bradycardia" on the hospital chart clipped to his bed and imagines that Laura probably had it as well before her condition escalated towards complete heart failure. 

 

The mention of Toscani peaks Dean's interest and he latches on to it, keen for any shred of evidence that might support his theory of who's behind the incidents. "Does Renaldo approach you like that often before shoots?" 

 

When Alexandre snorts out a laugh, it's the most lively that he's appeared since Sam and Dean have been in his hospital room. "Well, not _exactly_  like that, but he's always been all over me. It's just that, before, he was always hitting on me and telling me a bunch of crap about how he could get me more career opportunities if I did some 'favors' for him. Now, he mostly only tracks me down to bitch at me. Guess he found someone else to perv on," he says, his voice filled with bitter amusement as his eyes stray briefly but noticeably towards Sam, who flusters at the implication. "Can't say I'm too broken up about it, to be honest. I'd rather he yell at me than try to grope my ass on a daily basis." 

 

Sam clears his throat. "So I'm guessing that means you never ended up doing any of those 'favors' for him then?," he asks delicately, but also obviously trying to move the conversation forward before it can linger on anything having to do with Toscani's preoccupation with him. 

 

"I always told him I wasn't interested. I'm not  _that_  desperate to get ahead," Alexandre says, his face twisting with disdain. "Plus, he's a total douche. Everything about him just seems so...fake. I'm almost positive that he's not even actually Italian, so what the hell is with that accent?" 

 

" _Thank you_!," Dean exclaims, forgetting for a moment that he's meant to be acting in a somewhat professional capacity. The vindication coursing through his body is put to a halt when Sam shoots him a weary look. "I mean, is there anyone else in the studio that you've spent a lot of time with, someone who may have had the chance to slip you something?" 

 

Alexandre shakes his head. "None that I can think of. I don't really hang around with anyone there. Modeling isn't exactly a friendly business, I'm not really looking to make pals." 

 

"Are you sure?," Sam prods. "There's not even someone that you're... _intimate_  with?" Dean quietly snorts at the way he says "intimate" and gets a light kick to his ankle for his trouble. 

 

Alexandre insists that he hasn't slept been sexually or romantically involved with anyone on the shoot and when Dean calls Katie after they leave the hospital to ask her if Laura had been having any relationships that she knew of, she tells them that Laura had a personal rule of not getting involved with anyone she worked with and seems adamant that Laura would have told her if she  _was_  with someone. 

 

Sam seems frustrated by the fact that his theory didn't pan out since it meant they were back at square one again. 

 

"Well, that was a waste of time," he grumbles as he jams his seat belt in place with a little more force than necessary." 

 

"It wasn't a bad theory," Dean says, trying to cheer him up. "It made sense at the time with what we were working with, but now we just gotta move on to something else. Besides, I don't think it was a  _total_ waste."

 

Sam frowns, probably scanning through that big brain on his to figure out what part of interviewing Alexandre had apparently given him some sort of breakthrough.

 

"He said that Toscani was freaking out on him just a few minutes before he passed out. He might not be an incubus or a succubus or what the hell ever, but maybe he's been slowly draining Alexandre ever since he turned him down. He said that yesterday wasn't the first time Toscani was pissed at him for no discernible reason, so I'm gonna go out on a limb and say he's not a huge fan of getting rejected," Dean posits, feeling more of a sense of purpose now that he's been able to coalesce a workable theory. "Could be that he targets models who tell him to fuck off and then just keeps moving on the next person he gets a creepy boner for."  _To you_ , he doesn't say but he's pretty sure Sam can hear the implied words anyway. 

 

Sam taps his fingers against his knee as he considers this for a few moments. "That's not implausible," he allows, "but why would he want to sabotage his own shoot in the process? He seemed pissed when he had to send everyone home yesterday." 

 

"Maybe he's trying to throw off the scent? Or he's just an asshole."

 

"Are you sure you're not trying to pin this on him just because you think he's a dick?" Sam challenges, clearly amused by Dean's hatred of the man. "It's not like it's unheard of for directors to sexually harass the models they work with. It's terrible, but that doesn't mean he's a  _literal_ monster."   
  


"First of all, I don't  _think_  he's a dick. I  _know_  he's one. And second of all, it's only  _mostly_  the reason I think he's guilty." 

 

There's probably something wrong with him for the way that he finds Sam rolling his eyes at him in exasperation to be weirdly sexy. 

 

Well, at least he'd be able to get away from his confusing, Sam related feelings while they were at work. 

 

*******************

To his torment, he isn't able to get away from them at all because it just so happens that the shoot he did with Sam the day before turned out so well that the photographers decide to make them a duo for subsequent shoots as well. As a result, Dean spends most of his day on set with Sam although at least none of them so far have been as suggestive as the one from yesterday; at most, they've involved him doing things like showing off fancy button down shirts while slinging a friendly arm around Sam's shoulders and a lot of them don't involve any sort of physical contact at all. 

 

It's mostly the part where he has to look at Sam in the outfits they shove him into that gets to Dean; Sam manages to look pretty good in the cheap flannel and baggy jeans that he normally favors, but seeing Sam in clothing that's sized correctly and picked out by people whose literal job it is to make Sam look fuckable is slowly wearing Dean down. Sam in a leather jacket? Challenging, but more or less bearable. The swimsuit session with the borderline indecent shorts? He's a little less capable of dealing with that one, but still able to hold it together. But the goddamn cowboy boots? He doesn't even know why a fancy store like  _Arnel's_  has a line of cowboy boots to begin with, but surely it wasn't necessary for them to also put Sam in a wide brimmed hat and a pair of tight jeans. And they definitely didn't need to have Dean holding one end of a length of rope with the other wrapped around Sam's body as if to suggest that he'd been lasso'd by Dean. 

 

At that point, Dean begins to think that maybe the shoot really is cursed. Or at least, that's what he tells himself to justify the fact that he very barely  avoided getting a boner while pretend-lassoing Sam.  

 

He's wound up so tight when he's in hair and makeup with Sophie that afternoon that he's surprised she didn't find a whole mess of gray hair that wasn't there the day before. She's chattering on and on about some tv show or another that she watches every week when Dean sees something out of the corner of his eye that makes his jaw clench. 

 

"Is something the matter Th--," She cuts herself off when she follows Dean's gaze to the corner of the room where Toscani has managed to get a weary looking Sam alone so he can attempt to chat him up, no doubt trying to impress him by talking about his stupid lamborghini in excruciating detail. Again. Even his taste in cars is shitty. "Isn't that your friend over there with Renaldo? Jeeze, that guy never quits." 

 

Dean frowns. "What do you mean?" 

 

"Oh, I just mean that Renaldo has a bit of a habit of doing things like this," she explains as she carefully applies foundation to his face with a makeup sponge. "He always has at least a few models picked out that he likes to obsess over for a while. Even Laura, rest her soul, couldn't get away from the guy when he decided that she was his new, favorite ingénue. No wonder the poor thing looked so worried and stressed out all the time." 

 

The fact that Toscani apparently had a fixation on Laura prior to her death is news to Dean and he files it away as another reason why he's the most likely culprit. 

 

And another reason why he needs to keep him the hell away from Sam. 

 

 

*****************

 

The rest of the day feels even more grueling than usual, and by the end of it he has a throbbing pain in the back of his head and feels like he hasn't slept in a good three days. Between worrying about Toscani potentially targeting Sam and trying to cope with the fact that the universe is cosmically punishing him by making him cozy up next to Sam in a bunch of photoshoots that have tested both his sanity and his ability to keep himself from getting erections though sheer force of will, he feels exhausted, and Sam looks at him in concern when he nearly stumbles out of the car after parking in front of the motel. 

 

"Dude, are you feeling alright? You haven't been looking too hot over the past few hours or so." 

 

"I'm always hot," Dean retorts, ruining it slightly by failing to repress a yawn. 

 

Sam looks at him skeptically. "Are you sure? Because if the same thing is starting to happen to you that's been happening to the others, maybe you should sit tomorrow out. I handle the investigation myself for a while if I need to." 

 

"Relax, Sammy," he assures, "it's just been a long day with all the...you know." He waves his hand in a gesture that loosely conveys 'you know' to mean 'all those photoshoots where we had to touch and do a bunch of other weird shit to each other while a heap of people watched and took pictures.' 

 

Sam clearly understands what the body language means because his face turns bright red and he stammers something about grabbing some dinner for them from the diner across the street. As he walks away Dean can't help but sneak a look at his retreating form, once more clad in the usual baggy jeans and flannel, and wonders if they might be able to steal some of the clothes that Sam wore for the shoots once the case is over. 

***************

When Sam walks back into the motel room several minutes later wearing the very same cowboy outfit, lasso and all, that he was wearing earlier in the the day, Dean is surprised to say the very least and stares at him in a state of slack-jawed speechlessness. 

 

"What the hell...?" he finally manages to say. 

 

"You looked like you could use a little cheering up," Sam says a little mischievously. His voice is huskier than usual and Dean absently wonders if this is Sam's sex voice. He knows that he wants to find out. 

 

But he also knows that what's happening is completely insane. 

 

Dean gestures at Sam's cowboy get-up. "Where did you even get that? Did you steal it from the set or something?" 

 

"Technically," Sam admits, shrugging. "But it's not like they need it right at this second,  and I was going to give it back later. Well...depending on how dirty it is when we're finished, anyway." He smirks when Dean gapes at him and saunters over to the bed. 

 

It's all happening so fast, and when Dean tells Sam as much, he places a finger on Dean's lips and shushes him. 

 

"Aren't you the one always tell  _me_  that I overthink things?," he teases, and their faces are close enough that Dean that can pick out all of the individual greens and blues in his eyes. "I think we've both wanted this for a long time. What's stopping us." 

 

Laws and general morality, probably, but Dean forgets all about those trivial things when Sam presses his lips against his own, leaving Dean with no other choice than to throw caution to the wind and kiss back. 

 

"See?" Sam says when he pulls away, "was that so hard?" 

 

It wasn't, but Dean thinks that it probably should have been. It was far too easy for him to cross that line and kiss Sam, and when Sam puts a pause to their kissing and groping a couple of minutes later to whisper in his ear that he wants Dean to fuck him, it's far too easy to cross that line as well. 

 

It's difficult for Sam to ride him with any sort of grace or rhythm while his hands are lasso'd together behind his back, but they manage it well enough, and Dean has his hands planted firmly on Sam's narrow hips to help guide him up and down on his cock, setting a pace that has them both hurtling towards the edge more quickly than Dean would like. He supposes it doesn't really matter though because, if he has his way, he and Sam will have plenty of time to practice their endurance. Over and over, and over again. 

 

Sam makes the sweetest little noises whenever Dean pounds into him at just the right, but all of those grunts and whimpers and the frantic litany of "harder, harder, harder" don't compare to the loud, strangled moan that Sam lets out when he clenches around Dean and comes hot and messy between them. 

 

"Fuck, Sam," Dean groans as he stares at Sam's flushed face and the way that his sex-mussed hair frames it perfectly. Sam slumps against him bonelessly and Dean thrusts into him again, a little more gently this time, and it isn't long before he finally,  _finally_ \--

 

************

Dean wakes up with a start, bolting up in bed and looking around in confusion and realizes that he must have fallen asleep at some point when Sam left for the diner the night before. A glance at the pills sitting on the nightstand  next to a cup of water shows that Sam was considerate enough to pick up some aspirin while he was out, obviously able to glean that Dean had a headache. When he looks over at the bed next to him, he sees that Sam is fortunately still sleeping peacefully, apparently unaware that his brother just had an extremely graphic dream about him. When Dean feels a disgusting, cooling dampness between his legs, he quietly groans at the fact that he came in his pants during the night for the first time since being a teenager. After he awkwardly shuffles to the bathroom and cleans himself up, he stuffs the soiled pants into the bottom of his duffle bag and tries to tell himself that it's ridiculous for him to be disappointed by the fact that having sex with Sam earlier hadn't actually happened. There was no point in being upset because of a dream.

 

An usually vivid one, but a dream nonetheless. 

 

Dean doesn't manage to get much sleep after than and he can tell that Sam is still worried about him as they drive to the studio, but he waves off his concerns by changing the topic and telling Sam what the heard about Toscani's  connection with Laura the day before, and he reluctantly agrees to try and keep Toscani distracted that morning so Dean can sneak into his office and try to find something, anything, that would provide some kind of hard proof that Toscani was behind everything. At this point, Dean just wanted to be able to gank the creep and get the hell out of New York so can try to bottle up all of his feelings for Sam again. It's worked before. 

 

Kind of. 

 

It turns out that Sam doesn't even have to seek Toscani out, because it isn't long after they get there that the man makes a beeline towards him, almost as if Sam is flashing some kind of douchebag beacon that he's irresistibly drawn to. The sight of Toscani creepily fawning over Sam and the way that Sam is forcing himself to flirt back for the sake of Dean being able to sneak into his office makes Dean feel a little nauseous and he vows to break in and get out as quickly as possible. 

 

Jimmying open the door's lock is practically child's-play and it isn't long before Dean is rifling through the man's file cabinet. Most of it is typical, boring office stuff. Tax forms, various old and current modeling contracts, budget reports and so on and so on. It isn't until he finds a large, unlabled folder that he thinks he's finally found something interesting and when he opens it, he sees a stack of what looks to be candid photos of people who may or may not have been aware that a camera was pointed at them. There's no telling how old some of the photos are, and Dean doesn't recognize most of the people in the pictures, but there are a few familiar faces in there that Dean's seen around the studio and, sure enough, he finds some of Laura as well. He feels a chill run down his spine when he sees that Sam is in the stack as well; photos of him walking around the studio, photos of him with a big, dumb smile on his face at something that Dean said to him, and even just photos of him picking at a salad in the cafeteria, looking bored. 

 

Despite the fact that they've both had more pictures taken of them in the past several days than they've had in their entire lifetimes, Dean is furious at the idea that Sam didn't get a choice in the matter with these particular photos and he grips the glossy prints so tightly that they crumple in his hands. He wonders if this is part of Toscani's MO, if all of the models in the folder are people that he's fed off of and kept trophies of to remember them by after they either died or were forced to leave their jobs when they began to feel too weak to continue working. He debates looking around the office for more evidence, but he's been gone long enough and what he does have will hopefully be enough to persuade Sam that Toscani is guilty. 

 

As he's tucking the folder into his jacket and preparing to creep out of the office, he hears light footsteps behind him and instinctively reaches back into his jacket to pull out a knife but his reflexes are too slow and it's only an instant later that he feels something crack against the side of his head and his world fades to blackness. 


	4. Chapter 4

When he wakes up, he's tied to a chair in a large room (unused, judging by the amount of dust in it. A storage area in the back of the studio, perhaps),  his mouth feels fuzzy, and his head is pounding even more than it was the night before. His vision is blurry when he first opens his eyes, but he he can make out the vague shape of a figure standing in front of him. At first, he assumes that it's Toscani but when his eyes focus, he tell that the shape is clearly female. 

 

"How nice of you to join me,  _Theodore_ ," she greets. It's the same chipper voice that he's gotten so used to hearing each day, except there's something  a little more cruel underneath it now.

 

"...Sophie," he croaks, trying to wrap his head around what's happening. He feels like an idiot as he suddenly recalls Sophie telling him on his first day at the studio about how she couldn't believe that Laura was never going to sit in her chair again and Alexandre saying that he started feeling dizzy when he was on set, just a few minutes after he was in hair and makeup. Not to mention the fact that he himself began gradually feeling woozy the previous day after Sophie prepared him for his shoot. He's willing to bet that the other models who were hospitalized after collapsing on set were regulars of her as well. He was so busy hating Toscani that he never even considered the obvious  conclusion that the person draining life-force out of people just might be the same one who's constantly in close proximity to and touching them. Goddammit.  

 

"You know, it took me a while to figure out who you are," she says casually, ignoring his query. "But it wasn't until yesterday that it finally dawned on me that I had a couple of Winchesters in my midst. You boys really can't leave well enough alone, can you?" 

 

"Yeah,  we tend not to take too kindly to people getting the life-force sucked out of them. We're annoying like that." 

 

"Hey," she shrugs, "succubi gotta eat. What do you expect a gal to do? Starve?" 

 

"Preferably," Dean tries to subtly struggle against his bonds, but they don't give even slightly. He knows that it's almost a sure thing that she isn't planning a catch-and-release kind of situation for him and he hopes that all of her chattiness over the past few days wasn't just a facade. If he manages to keep her talking for a while, hopefully Sam will realize that's something gone wrong and get here in time to take her out before she does...whatever it is she's going to do to him. 

 

"Does Toscani even have anything to do with this at all," he asks her, genuinely curious. 

 

"That idiot?" she smirks, rolling her eyes. "Of course not. But I knew that you wanted to  _believe_  that he did, so I was happy to give you a few helpful nudges in that direction. Figured that if I kept you busy enough with him that you didn't  focus on suspecting anyone else, then I'd have the chance to get one of you alone sooner or later and I could take care of my little hunter problem." 

 

"So what?" Dean asks, kicking himself for being manipulated so easily. "Was all that stuff yesterday about him stalking Laura just a bunch of bullshit? Did you plant all those photos in his office too?" 

 

Sophie seems honestly amused by this and when she throws back her head and laughs, Dean can see a shock of white teeth even in the slightly dim room. 

 

"Oh, you sweet boy. That was just a fortunate coincidence," She coos, pinching Dean's cheeks as if he were a child. "This is the glamorous world of modeling, darling, and it's chock full of creeps like Toscani just dying to take advantage of all the Lauras in the world.  And your doe eyed, baby brother, of course." 

 

"...yeah, that actually does make sense," Dean admits, bristling at the mention of Sam. He can honestly say he's not going to miss leaving this place behind (even aside from the fact that he's currently tied to the chair by a psychotic succubus). 

 

"On the other hand," she muses, "I suppose you're  _also_  dying to take advantage of your little brother. So how much better than him are you, really?" 

 

Dean flinches. "How the hell...?" 

 

She breezes past his inquiry without any acknowledgement and he feels an irrational tinge of annoyance at being ignored even though he knows that he's relatively safe as long as she keeps monologuing like a  _James Bond_  villain. Then again, he  _is_  at the mercy of a succubus so maybe the whole scenario is less  _GoldenEye_  and more  _Licence to Thril_ _l_ , the porno that, in his opinion, is at least one of the better  _James Bond_  themed pay-per-view movies that sleazy motels have to offer, even though he's not eager to re-enact any of the racy scenes with his captor. 

 

   "I know people tend to think of succubi as being all about sex and, in fairness to you small minded humans, that's actually true most of the time. But you really have no idea how tiresome it gets. Once you've been living on a diet made purely of sexual energy for a few centuries, you pretty much exhaust every sexual fantasy out there and the whole thing just stops being worth it. It's just so...boring," she sighs. "Eventually, I realized that there were a whole host of even tastier feelings to feed off of, but I think my favorite might be desperation, and models are just full of it. That constant yearning to finally strike fame, the way they're willing to starve and abuse themselves all day long to achieve perfection even though hardly any of them actually make it to the big leagues. It's just wonderful" She smiles at him widely. 

 

Dean shudders at her giddy tone. Somehow, the idea of her feeding off of sexual energy was less disturbing than subsisting off of pure human misery. "What I don't understand is that if you're constantly surrounded by desperation and have such a large food source, then why completely drain Laura?" 

 

"Ooooh yeah, that one was my bad," she concedes, scrunching up her face in a 'what can ya do' expression. "Complete accident, actually. I found her in the studio all alone one night because the silly thing came back to get her jacket, and I just couldn't resist a little midnight snack.  I guess I over did it. It's a shame though, she really was a sweet girl. There was innocence about her that was so refreshing." 

 

Dean grimaces in disgust and Sophie waves it off. "Don't you get jealous, you're still one of my favorites. When it comes to desperation, you're practically an entire Thanksgiving feast. You reek of it whenever you get near that brother of yours. It's a shame that you won't be around long enough for me to properly savor it though. I might actually miss you." 

 

"I'm having some trouble taking that as a compliment." 

 

Sophie pouts at him. "Honestly now, there's no need to be mean. I was even kind enough to give you a little parting gift last night." 

 

Something cold settles inside of his stomach when he realizes that she must be talking about the dream, and the idea of her being inside of his head makes him feel sick. "That was you?" He demands furiously. "I'm gonna freaking rip your throat out!" 

 

"Oh, don't be like that," she chides. "If it makes you feel any better, I just planted the seed in your mind last night. I didn't actually stick around to watch it grow, so to speak. I figured you might want to have some fun before you died." 

 

Dean opens his mouth to tell her exactly how he feels about that, but she places her hand over it to stop him. He's suddenly struck by the immature urge to lick it, but he's pretty sure that wouldn't actually deter her." 

 

"Now, now, Dean. I think we've talked long enough." Her tone loses its chipper gloss for the first time, revealing something hard and cold. "But now, I'm afraid that I'm beginning to feel a bit peckish. You'll just make the prettiest little husk, don't you think?" 

 

Before she can put her hands on him, there's a loud banging on the door and it swings nearly off of its hinges with as its kicked upon and Sam bursts into the room with his weapon drawn. When he sees Dean tied to the chair but otherwise safe and sound for the time being, he smiles in relief and Dean can't help but return it.

 

"Sheesh, it's about time," he chastises lightly. 

 

"Yeah, yeah..." 

 

Sophie watches the exchange as if Sam's unexpected arrival is only a mild inconvenience. 

 

"Well, I  _was_ planning on taking care of him before I got to you," she explains, jerking a thumb in Dean's direction. "But I suppose it might be fun for me to kill his darling little brother in front of him first instead." 

 

Without further ado, she lunges at Sam and sends him flying into the wall. 

 

"Sammy!" 

 

"Aww, look at that," she mocks as she wraps her manicured hands around Sam's throat. "Big brother's worried about you. The funny thing is that you probably wouldn't be here trying to save his life in the first place if you knew about the things he wants to do you." 

 

Horrified at possibilities of what she's about to say, Dean sucks in a sharp intake of air and watches as  Sam manages to pry her hands off of his throat and shove her away from him and pin her to the ground.

 

"There's nothing that a monster like you has to say about Dean that I'd want to hear," Sam says coldly, as Sophie struggles against his grasp. 

 

"Oh? Then why don't you ask him what he dreams about at night? I think you'll find the answer to be...interesting," she purrs at him. 

 

If Sam acknowledges her words in any way, he doesn't show it and Dean can see Sophie's struggling become more desperate when she notices the silver knife that Sam draws from his belt. 

 

"No!," she shrieks, but it's too late and Dean sees a streak of silver in the air as Sam plunges the knife into her heart. Her body lies on the ground motionless for a moment, face still twisted in rage and disbelief, before it begins to crumble into ash. 

 

Sam exhales in relief and sits on the ground, leaning against the wall for a moment to catch his breath before he hauls himself up and walks over to stand behind the chair that Dean's tied to and begins undoing the knots. 

 

"How'd you know out where I was?" Dean asks carefully in an attempt to keep Sam from lingering on what Sophie told him before her timely demise. 

 

Sam shrugs. "I figured something was up when you were taking your sweet time coming back, and when Toscani started freaking out because Sophie was missing from her station, I thought she might have had something to do with it," he says. His fingers brush against Dean's skin as he deftly begins to loosen the knots and the warmth of the brief contact sends the slightest, pleased shudder up his spine.

 

"Yeah, she snuck up on me and clocked me pretty good," Dean admits, wincing as he's reminded of the goose egg that she left on the back of his head. He tries to ignore the pounding in his skull and instead focuses on filling Sam in on the rest of the details of his encounter with Sophie, careful to leave out the whole "incestuous wet dream" thing. He's pretty sure that Sam just might leave him tied to the chair if he mentions that part. 

 

"Guess I was right about it being a succubus after all," Sam says with a touch of smugness in his voice. "But I've never heard of a succubus feeding off of non-sexual energy before. I wonder if they're all capable of doing that or if she was just old and powerful enough to--" 

  
  
Dean groans. "Yeah, yeah, I'll congratulate you on being a nerd all you want once we get the fuck outta here. You can slap the riveting new information in the journal later," he grouses without any actual heat. 

 

He tries to ignore the way that Sam's breath tickles his neck when he laughs at that and he's relieved when the coarse ropes finally fall away so he can stand up and try to work out some of the stiffness in his arms and legs. When he gets a good look at Sam for the first time, he sees that he's wearing a pair of snooty white pants with a tucked in button-down shirt and an actual ascot tied around his neck and Dean doesn't even bother stifling his amusement as Sam grumbles about his lack of gratitude. It's hard to take him seriously when he looks like he's about to play a rousing game of croquet or whatever the hell it is that rich people in tacky outfits do, but it's oddly satisfying to see that the undoubtedly expensive ensemble was ruined in the scuffle with rips in some places and little droplets of blood spattered in others. He's pretty sure the studio wouldn't be thrilled about getting the outfit back in the condition it's in (unless they were going for a "country club member who survives the zombie apocalypse" vibe in whatever shoot the outfit is for, which he doubts), and they eventually manage to sneak out of the studio through a back exit without being seen by anyone. 

 

When they make it to the parking lot, so close to blessed freedom, Dean catches a glimpse of the shaded, reserved parking area in the corner of the lot and stops in his tracks when he looks at the tempting sight of Toscani's fugly, yellow lamborghini just sitting there in the open, begging to be vandalized. Getting cleared of murder did precisely nothing to endear Toscani towards him and as much as he would normally hesitate to defile another man's car, he's willing to make an exception. He'll probably still drive back up to the studio in the morning to properly threaten the creep into respecting boundaries now that there's no reason to keep up the modeling act; Dean figures that waving around a fake badge (and a real gun, depending on how he's feeling) should be enough to put the fear of God into him. For now though, he'll settle for just ruining the man's day. 

 

 Sam seems confused by his sudden halt until he follows Dean's line of sight and scrunches up his face. 

 

"Ugh." 

 

"My thoughts exactly," Dean concurs, shooting Sam a grin. "You wanna fuck up his ride a little before we head back to the motel? I bet he'd cry." 

 

"Dean, we can't do that," Sam sighs, looking at him in mild exasperation.

 

Dean barely resists the urge to stamp his feet. "Aw, don't be such a buzz kill. You really don't wanna at least key the stupid thing?" 

 

"I meant we can't do it without some spray paint," Sam points out, the corner of his lip twitching into a slightly vindictive grin that Dean doesn't see often. "I'm pretty sure we have some in the trunk." 

 

Dean falls a little bit in love. 

*************

 

He completely forgets about the photos until he tosses his jacket onto his motel bed later than evening and they all spill out across the mattress and onto the grody carpet. He tries to scramble and pick them up before Sam notices his own face among the creepy collection, but Sam is sitting on his own bed as it happens and he frowns as he leans down to pick up a handful of them, shuffling through them with confusion. 

 

"What the hell...?" He mutters, the expression on his face going tight as he comes across a picture of himself in the studio on break, clearly unaware of the camera trained on him. "Who took these?"

 

"Found 'em in Toscani's office when I was snooping around and figured that it was probably better not to give them back," Dean explains. No point in preserving Sam's peace of mind now, he supposes. "He's not technically a murderer, probably, but he had one hell of a creepy photo collection hidden in his office." 

 

"Yeah, no kidding." Sam sorts through the pile of photos for a few more seconds, shuffling through a few more of himself and a few of various other unsuspecting people before setting them on the nightstand with the unsettled expression on his face. "We'll, I'm feeling pretty good about letting you paint a dick on his car earlier," he says, aiming to lighten the plummeting mood despite how disturbed he clearly is by Toscani's obsession. 

 

It was actually one of the less vulgar things done to the car, but Dean doesn't feel like joking about it right now. Instead, he plops down on the bed next to Sam, letting their legs knock together. 

 

"You used to do this kind of thing in college too, didn't you? Were there ever other guys that...you know?" He asks hesitatingly. It's a question that he's wondered about ever since Sam sprung his little college modeling career factoid on him and he almost isn't sure that he wants an answer. Isn't sure he wants to know that there was a time when Sam might've had to put up with another Toscani when he was depending on a job to pay for books or rent and didn't have his big brother around to keep an eye on him. 

 

"It happened sometimes," Sam says carefully after a long moment of quiet. "People were actually pretty cool most of the time, but there were a few who tried to take things too far. Usually it wasn't too bad, but I got kicked off a shoot once for socking a guy who got too handsy." 

 

"Atta boy," Dean says proudly, grinning even as his stomach begins to churn. He can't help but remember what Sophie told him back at the studio, about how he wasn't any better than Toscani for the things he thought about doing with Sam. After all this, it doesn't seem fair to keep it hidden from him, and if Sam wants to sock him in the face too, then so be it. 

"Listen, about what she said back there..." Dean begins a few moments later in the lull that followed Sam's admission. 

 

"Dean, it's okay," Sam says gently. "Really. I wasn't lying when I said that I didn't want to hear anything she had to say. You don't need to tell me about it." 

 

"But...why? If it was the truth, why wouldn't you wanna know?" 

 

Sam pauses for a moment. "Because I have a pretty good idea of what she was going to say," he replies, carefully. Dean's heart feels like it's about to pound out of his chest. "And I don't want the reason that you say it to me now be just because you feel like you've been cornered into doing it. I want you to say it because  _you_  want to say it. Does that make sense?" 

 

Dean isn't quite sure, because it  _sounds_  like Sam understands that Dean has feelings towards him, but he's not freaking out and trying to put as many states between them as possible, so that can't be it. "I...kind of? But just to be sure, why don't you tell me what you think I think about you?" 

 

Sam abandons his half-assed attempt at being subtle and looks at Dean with exasperation. "This is beginning to just get stupid," he complains, catching Dean off guard by pulling him forward by his shirt and placing a chaste, sweet kiss on his lips. It's a gentle, brief thing, not like the ones in his dreams that were so full of passion and need that they made Dean feel like his whole body was on fire, but it's a million times better because it's _real_. 

 

When Sam pulls away, Dean stares at him in stunned silence. 

 

"Oh," he says eventually, when his capability for human speech has somewhat returned. 

 

"Yup." 

 

For the first time in along while, Dean feels a weight ease from his chest and he feels almost giddy from it even though he tries to keep that part under wraps. He doesn't know how the hell he and Sam are going to deal with the fact that their relationship has just been changed in a way that they can never undo, but he's pretty sure that he's looking forward to finding out. 

 

"Hey Sam?" Dean asks after a  moment of comfortable silence. 

 

"Yeah?" 

 

"How exactly can I find those pictures of you modeling in your underwear?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the fic!! Feel free to bug me on my [tumblr](http://efflorescentjared.tumblr.com/) if you ever get the urge


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